Celebrating the Fallen
by LaneWinree51
Summary: Seven years after the chaotic Battle of Hoth, Luke Skywalker and the surviving Rogues return to pay their respects to the fallen.


**Title:** Celebrating the Fallen  
><strong>Fandom:<strong> Star Wars  
><strong>Genre:<strong> Nostalgia, reflection  
><strong>Rating:<strong> PG  
><strong>Timeframe:<strong> 10 ABY, sometime after the Thrawn Trilogy  
><strong>Characters:<strong> Luke Skywalker, Wedge Antilles, Tycho Celchu, Wes Janson, Hobbie Klivian  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> Don't own Star Wars nor the characters. Thanks, Uncle George!  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Seven years after the chaotic Battle of Hoth, Luke Skywalker and the surviving Rogues return to pay their respects to the fallen.  
><strong>Notes:<strong>For the 2011 Wraith Squadron LJ Comm Fic-a-Thon. This is a gift for bitwhizzle, featuring the following prompt:

_A fic featuring Hobbie and Luke, but would appreciate a dash of Fab Four, Wraith, or Han & Chewie, if you're feeling adventurous. She really does not want to see Corran Horn or Iella popping up in the fic, nor anything from NJO. Your prompts are: "tight-fitting flight suit," "snowball fight," and "jealousy."_

I didn't quite squeeze "jealousy" in there and this fic got a good deal more melancholy than I think you may have been looking for, but I did manage to squeeze some old-fashioned Rogue funny in there. Hope you enjoy it!

* * *

><p>Luke had forgotten just how cold Hoth was.<p>

The last time he had stood on the icy world, he had been caught in the middle of a frantic evacuation to escape the Empire's clutches. Deckhands and pilots had been yelling at each other, dragging fuel lines around to get starfighters and transports in a frantic effort to get as many of the Alliance's military personnel off-world as possible. Luke had been one of the last to leave, but the chaos still reverberated through his mind. The long run from the battlefield back to Echo Base, the scramble to his X-Wing knowing full well that Imperial Stormtroopers weren't far behind. He remembered the feeling of complete and utter relief that washed over him when he saw the_Falcon_rush away from the Imperial invaders.

"You know as much as everyone hated this place," Wes Janson mused aloud as he sat down on an old crate on the hangar floor, "I much preferred it to Yavin."

Hobbie Klivian shot Wes an incredulous look while walking down the _Falcon's_entry ramp. "Are you mad?"

"Do you remember how humid it was on Yavin?" Wes asked. "Place did awful things to my hair."

Rolling his eyes, Luke took a good look around the hangar. The cavernous facility was mostly empty, save for a few old T-47 Speeders that had been left behind seven years earlier. The only other ship there was the _Falcon_parked in the center of the hanger. Mulling about nearby were several of Luke's former subordinates. Hobbie and Wes were busying themselves with Force knows what mischief. Closer to the old Corellian transport were Wedge Antilles and Tycho Celchu, the two senior officers who had succeeded Luke's command of Rogue Squadron.

A low, rumbling voice caught Luke's attention. He turned to see Chewbacca peering out from the entry ramp.

"I know it's cold, Chewie," Luke said reassuringly. "I do appreciate you and Han bringing us out here, though."

"Take all the time you need," Han said, appearing beside Chewbacca. "We'll be in the crew hold. With a space heater turned on." The Corellian patted the Wookiee on the arm and disappeared back into the _Falcon_.

Turning his attention back to the Rogues, Luke saw Hobbie breaking into one of the crates they had brought from Coruscant. He procured five glasses and a bottle of Lomin ale, handing one glass to each of the men before filling them.

"To the fallen Rogues," Hobbie said, raising his glass before swallowing the contents.

The others followed suit, toasting to the memory of the men and women who perished in the evacuation years earlier. An oppressive hush lingered in the air for a long moment before Tycho finally spoke up. "Do you remember that stunt old Zev pulled on Wes?" he asked.

Wes buried his face in the palm of his hands. "Please. Don't remind me."

"Old Zev pulled a prank on Wes?" Luke said, arching a brow. "Where was I and why wasn't I informed of it?"

"I think you were off floating in a bacta tank," Hobbie noted. "I should have joined you. They kept that bacta at a rather pleasant temperature."

"So what exactly did Old Man Senesca do?" Luke asked.

"I still can't believe he got away with it," Wedge said, shaking his head. "Somehow managed to rewire the scramble alarm in Wes' quarters to his datapad and triggered it remotely. I was walking down the hall when it went off."

"It's less funny if you were in there too," Hobbie noted sourly. "Alarm goes off, I rush out of my bed thinking that there's a squadron of TIEs racing towards us. Wes and I are getting into our flightsuits when he says 'Hobbs, I've got a problem!'"

A smirk formed on Luke's lips. "I do believe that every wonderful Wes Janson story in the galaxy revolves around him saying 'I've got a problem.'"

"Isn't that the Force honest truth?" Hobbie grinned. "In any case, I look over at Wes and I see he's trying to squeeze himself into a flightsuit that's about three sizes too small for him. Obviously at this point, we're in an absolute panic because we're convinced command just issues an emergency scramble code."

"And what did you do that that point?"

"I told Wes to suck it up and squeeze himself into that thing," Hobbie responded. "Let me just say, that flightsuit left precious little to the imagination. Soon as Wes was sealed into that thing we made our way to the hangar. Or in Wes' case, waddled. We burst in and are greeted by the sight of four deck officers calmly playing a game of sabaac. One of them was that girl from Contruum that he had a thing for, you should have seen how red her face got when she got a good look at the outline of Wes' ... assets in that suit."

"Wedge and I arrived a few moments later to see Hobbie looking confused and Wes looking as if he'd just been caught with his trousers down," Tycho said. "Though, like you said, in that flightsuit he might as well have been. Few minutes later we're leading our frazzled pilots back to their bunks. Down the corridor we run into Zev, who's doubled over on the ground and laughing hysterically."

"It's at that point we realize that Zev, the most straight-laced and by the datapad of any of us, had managed to pull a fast one on Wes," Wedge said.

Luke couldn't help but laugh. "It's always the quiet ones."

"Losing Zev was rough," Wedge mused aloud. "You and I were so damn young when we were running this outfit together. I don't know about you, but I was always wondering if I was screwing up or not. Anytime I was unsure about one of our decisions, I'd always sneak a look at Zev. There was always this sense of relief if he gave that small little nod of his to let you know that he approved."

Tycho raised his glass of now chilled ale. "To Zev. The father figure we all needed."

"To Zev," Luke echoed, raising his glass before bringing it to his lips and downing the content, wincing ever so slightly at the burning sensation.

For several hours the four current Rogues and their former commanding officer continued to commiserate, sharing sordid tales of their brief time stationed in the icy Echo base. They grumbled and groaned at the memory of starfighter maintenance, the struggles they had keeping their ships operational in the frigid temperatures. They laughed as Hobbie retold the tale of the ill-fated game of strip sabacc he and Wes had played with a pair of female officers (though the two of them didn't admit it, Luke knew they had wound up in sickbay the next morning recovering from hypothermia). They felt slightly ill when they recalled the time Wedge got tired of military rations and attempted to cook a Taun Taun for dinner.

It was while they were discussing rather unpleasant patrols outside in the drifting snow that Luke slipped off. Casually, he wandered towards one of the old T-47 airspeeders, running his gloved hand over the cold durasteel hull. A hint of sadness tugged at him as he looked over the twin-seated combat speeder. Seven years ago he had been sitting behind the flight controls of one of these T-47s. What a frantic and chaotic day that had been. His attention had been divided in so many directions. Leading the evacuation defense, wondering if Han and Leia were going to make it out safely, trying to fly through a barrage of laser cannon fire in a woefully under-armored, under-shielded craft.

He didn't do very well on that last count.

Taking a deep breath, Luke looked over his shoulder at the gathering of Rogues who had survived Hoth. Their conversation had stalled and Luke didn't need the Force to feel the full weight on their shoulders. It was a burden that he shared with them. Slowly, he turned his attention back to the T-47, stepping towards it and looking at the canopy release panel. Luke cautiously raised his hand, resting two fingers on the release switch for a moment before finally depressing it. With a strained whirr, the transparisteel canopy opened and he climbed into the pilot's seat, eyeing the console before flipping a few more switches.

Luke nearly jumped in surprise when the speeder managed to power itself on. Casting one last look back at his former subordinates, he made up his mind. It was time to do this. Keying for the canopy to shut, Luke kicked the repulsorlifts to life and rose off the ground. Before the others could react, he was soaring out of the hangar and away from Echo base.

It took his eyes several long seconds to adjust to the blinding light reflecting off of the snow. With the sensors off-line, Luke began piloting from memory, retracing the flightpath he had taken years earlier. Ahead and approaching quickly was the trench the ground troops had bunkered down in as they prepared for the Imperial assault. Before long, large outcrops appeared over the horizon. Fallen AT-AT walkers that his men had downed. Squinting, he searched for one wreckage in particular, finally spotting to the starboard side of the speeder.

As he set down, Luke felt a chill run through him. The wind howled all around the speeder, pelting the hull and transparisteel with driving snow. He drew his heavy jacket a big closer to him and opened the canopy hatch once more, stepping out onto the snow. It was only twenty paces, but it may have well been two-hundred. Ignoring the cold that bombarded him, Luke came to a stop in front of a mound of white. Snow drifts had covered it up. Only fragments of durasteel and the broken twin laser canons protruded from the icy bank. Despite more visual proof, he knew this was the place.

"Hi, Dack," Luke said to little more than the wind. "I'm sorry it's taken me so long. It's just ..." he paused. "It's been chaotic."

He drew his arms inward to preserve a bit more warmth. "Maybe you're watching from somewhere, maybe you already know, but we did it. We got off this rock, sure, but I'm talking about the Empire. We stopped them. Palpatine's gone, the Republic is back. It's in no small part because of the Rogues, you'd be pretty proud to see what your squadron mates managed to accomplish at Endor. What Wedge managed to pull off on Coruscant.

"I'm sorry you couldn't be there with them, Dack," Luke continued. "You would have been great. Just the kind of pilot Wedge needed after he took over. You ..." he swallowed. "You should have been there. You would have been if I could have flown better. I got so caught up on the evacuation that I didn't pay enough attention to what I was doing behind the flight controls that day. Everyone told me that it wasn't my fault, but you always know better. I knew I could have been a better pilot that day. I could have gotten you off this ice trap with me."

Luke felt a bit of moisture at the corners of his eyes. Damn the snow. He brushed at it with the sleeve of my jacket. "It took me seven years too long, but I'm here, Dack. I'm here to apologize. I let you down that day. If you're watching from somewhere on high, I hope you can find it in yourself to forgive me. I was your commanding officer and your wingman, I should have gotten you home."

The cold finally was too much to bear. Reluctantly, Luke turned and made his way back to the speeder, starting it back up to return back to the abandoned base. He took one last look at the crash site before throwing the throttle back to full. Though his heart was still heavy, Luke felt a small weight lifted from him. He had said what he needed to.

The others were waiting for him just outside the hangar as he returned. Luke set down on the snow and climbed out, nodding silently to his former charges. "Sorry about taking off," he said sheepishly.

"He was a good kid, Luke," Wedge said, apparently knowing what Luke had been up to. "and he knew what he was getting himself into."

Once more, Luke couldn't help but smile. Wedge Antilles had been his second-in-command for a reason. The Corellian always seemed to be able to read his thoughts. Sometimes Luke was convinced Wedge could give Leia a run for her credits in that department. For a long while, he simply stared off into the distance at the remnants of a warzone and the final resting places of Zev Senesca, Dack Ralter, and the other Rogues that had perished under Luke's command that day. That was the beginning of the end of his tenure is Rogue Squadron's commanding officer. It wasn't just the excursion he took to Dagobah that had convinced him that his time was up. It was the Battle of Hoth and the immediate aftermath where Wedge proved that not only was he a skilled second-in-command, he was ultimately destined to lead the unit.

Luke may have questioned a great many things he had done while leading the Rogues, but handing the squadron to Wedge was one decision he knew was correct. Seven years later, it was clear to the entire Galaxy that he had made the right call.  
>Tycho handed Luke a glass filled with amber ale, jarring him from his thoughts. "To Dack."<p>

"To Dack," Luke said, "and all the kids we couldn't bring back."

He swallowed the drink, feeling himself warm somewhat as it settled in his stomach. Turning on his heels, Luke walked towards the hangar. "Let's get back inside," he said. "It's freezing out-"

Luke was interrupted by something very cold and slightly wet slamming against his face. Spinning around, he saw a grinning Wes packing another snowball into his gloves.

"Lighten up, boss," Wes said. "We're here to celebrate their lives, not mourn them. Besides, I flew out all this way. I'm going to have a snowball fight."

Grinning, Luke scooped up a handful of snow. "Janson, you are going to regret that."

"Sure, but isn't snowball warfare a foreign concept to a Tatooine farmboy?"

"Oh now you've really done it."

Wes was right. They weren't here to mourn, not today. They were here to celebrate the lives of the fallen Rogues. What better way to do that than engaging in a bit of juvenile mischief?

Somewhere, Luke knew, Zev and Dack were smiling.

**Finis**


End file.
